Researcher & Former Director, Pfizer, Sweden
If democracy is to be properly evaluated, its practice should begin in educational institutions. Especially at Dhaka University, which is called the centre of the country’s political history, the free election of student organisations is the first laboratory of democratic practice. Many had thought that this year’s DUCSU election could be a new beginning. But the reality shows that obstacles have arisen here too.
The world is now facing an unprecedented transformation. Technology, urbanisation, climate change, economic inequality and socio-cultural shifts are altering human lifestyles faster than at any other time in history. This is having a direct impact on our closest social institutions—family and marriage. In Europe and North America, birth rates are falling and the number of marriages is declining. In contrast, in societies such as South Asia, family bonds still exist, but they too are rapidly weakening.
Bangladesh today stands at a crossroads. In the state, politics and education alike, instability, influence and invisible pressures are at work. Against this backdrop, the Dhaka University Central Students’ Union (DUCSU) election has once again brought forward an inevitable question—do we wish to move ahead on the basis of ideals, education and creativity, or will we remain trapped in the same cycle of party domination?
In Bangladesh, the story of state development nowadays is heard in newspaper pages, television announcements or from the mouths of leaders—“The country has changed,” “Development is visible,” “The dream Padma Bridge has been built,” or “Digital Bangladesh is a reality.” While these words sound striking, in reality, a cruel question also arises—who are the beneficiaries of this development? And by development, do we only mean buildings, bridges, or GDP, or is there any standard for people and humanity as well?
I am a village boy. I grew up walking muddy paths, enduring storms and rain, and studying under the light of a hurricane lamp. A few years in the village school, then at a school in a sub-divisional (now district) town, and later at Dhaka Residential Model School and College (DRMC)—this was the path of my education. From there, I passed HSC and set off for distant Sweden. Back then, I didn’t realise how uncomfortable the simplest questions in life could make someone, and how even speaking the truth could sometimes be seen as a fault. I learnt Bengali in the village—from my mother’s mouth, from the scent of the earth. The accent may not be urban, but it is full of heart. To many, this language might seem ‘broken’, but it is in this broken language that I have been writing for the last 10 years. I know that words require not only grammar but also the essence of the heart. My language is not for paper, but for life.
Students in Bangladesh are no longer confined to the lessons of the classroom alone. They are now voicing, loudly and clearly, in the streets, squares, digital platforms and media – that the structural inequality, corruption and opportunism in this country can no longer continue. This moral awakening of the youth is not just a symbol of a government’s fall, but the beginning of a new way of thinking about the state.